She stopped just behind him, where the heat radiating from his broad shoulders met the chill air around them, a silent command forcing him to swivel and face the dangerous indulgence she represented. Her voice, low and honeyed, grazed the shell of his ear. “You have always been a glutton, haven’t you, Grey?” The smile that curled her lips was less a grin and more an invitation to ruin. “I laid you to rest once before. Are you back for a deeper burial? Something more... satisfyingly permanent?” She closed the final, agonizing inch of space, her lace-clad thigh hovering just a breath from his side, a phantom pressure - a promise or a threat - that tightened the air between them. A faint, pleased tremor ran through her. “Gloating over your death was a pleasure I savor,” she murmured, the words laced with dark amusement. She leaned in, teeth flashing, “What are you doing here?”